


The Swallow and the Selkie

by sparly503



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Marius is unhealthily enthralled, dark Cosette, i suppose it's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparly503/pseuds/sparly503
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, he thinks, she will take one more who does not deserve her mercy.  But that day is not today; and tomorrow he will love her again - sweet, sweet Cosette who brings in the night with a knife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swallow and the Selkie

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote Les Mis fic….and it turned out to be dark!cosette hating men because she knows what happened to her mommy!fic. Sobs softly into a whiskey glass. I’m so sorry. It doesn't even make sense.  
> Warnings for reference to murder? Death of unnamed, not really present characters? I don't know, it's late.  
> Don't know, don't own, don't sue.

During the day Cosette is courtesy and soft flowers and simple, pretty laughter.

"Good sir," she says, and "I would not presume," and "isn't the park beautiful in spring, the fragility of the willow, the power in the rose," and she never, ever stammers or trips but instead smiles shyly - "if you would be so kind, sir, I'd be forever indebted, this area is _so_ different to my home in the country." (Her lies are silky enough to be passable truth – her home has never been the country, or anywhere.)

She is unassuming and warm, like the sunshine that bathe her flowers in the flowerbox she attends to so carefully, and he loves her; more than the swallow could ever love the evening wind he glides on; more than a selkie could ever love the ocean to which he calls home. She saves him, constantly keeps him afloat.

He loves her.

But when she comes to him at night, sharp fingers around a wicked blade, cold steel on his lips, fresh blood on hers, he _desires_ her. She's brave and wild. He wants her, he needs her. More than the swallow needs to fly. More than the selkie needs to swim. She draws the blade up beneath his eye and laughs.

"My angel," she whispers, and syrup turns to dirt, "they follow me."

He nods and breathes her in, adrenaline and sweat and an underlying floral scent. She nicks the softness by his right eye.

"They follow me," she says, digs nails onto his arm, "they don't get it. Kindness in their tone? 'Let me help you, I'll show you the way'. Do they think I do not see the darkness in their hearts? They think I am a fool, oblivious to their nature."

He coughs. She leans forward to slip the next stream of words into his ear.

"They all see, soon enough. Their eyes, so shocked...'please' they beg, _please_? They have no remorse for their nature on which I could cast mercy. I would have them all. I would break them all. Slit their pretty throats." She smiles at the quickening of his breath. "My sweet, my sweet, do not fear. One day I shall take this knife and carry it across your throat too, perhaps. Maybe I will impale your lovely, soft heart. I might just make you suffer. Do you treasure sight?"

He nods. He could not see the way the moonlight curves along her smirk otherwise, when she finally leans back to contemplate him.

"I will blind you then, my dearest, if you would not object."

"Never," he breathes. It is only when she is not asking a question that he may respond.

"Good," she says, begins to unlace her dress. "But not tonight."

No, not tonight. She places the blade on the side table, wipes another man's blood from her mouth and drags him down, down, down.

One day she will take a knife and carry it across his throat, or maybe she'll impale his heart, and make him suffer, take her deadly beauty away from his eyes. One day, _and that day_ , he thinks, _will be glorious_ , she will take one more, take one more who does not deserve her mercy. But that day is not today; and tomorrow, when the sun shades the moon, when she puts daisies in her hair and he fetches the water for her flowerbox, he will love her again - love her as the swallow could never love the evening wind, or the selkie could never love the ocean.


End file.
